A CONGER STORY. 87 



minute ! ' ' What's to do now ? ' ' Th' conger's getten 

 howd on me beheend ! Tak it off!' An' sure enough it 

 had getten fast howd o' th' soft end of his back, — and 

 theer it stuck. ' For pity's sake tak it off!' cried Jone. 

 ' Oh ; don't poo so hard ! Let it get loose of itsel' ! 

 Prize it mouth oppen ! Oh ! I connot ston this ! ' ' It's 

 no use!' said thi uncle Jonas, 'it'll not let go!' 'Then 

 cut it yed off! ' cried Jone ; 'an' poo ashore as fast as yo 

 con, — I'm bleedin' like a cauve ! ' So we pood ashore as 

 fast as we could, wi' Jone's leg stickin' through th' 

 bottom o' th' boat ; but when we were gettin' near lond, 

 Jone's leg coom again a sunken rock, an' snapt reet off 

 close to th' boat. ' Theer,' said Jone, pooin' his stump 

 out o' th' hole, ' thank God for that, — sink or swim I 

 Now, then, tak this thing off my hinder end ! ' So, wi' 

 much ado, we manage't to cut th' conger off, close to th' 

 yed; but th' yed stuck fast to th' owd lad's breeches 

 when done. An thi uncle Jonas had to carry Jone on his 

 back fro' th' boat to th' alehouse, wi' his brokken stump, 

 an' th' conger's head hangin' beheend him. An' when 

 th' folk at th' alehouse seed us comin', they shouted fro' 

 th' dur-hole, an' axed what luck we'd had. 'Luck !' said 

 Jone ; ' look at th' back o' me, here ! I've had a bite, if 

 nobody else has ! ' " 



